


Thorn, A Sylvari's Tale - Chapter 2

by Mozu



Category: Guild Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:24:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozu/pseuds/Mozu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Guild Wars 2 novel in progress.</p><p>Apologies for the wonky formatting - you can read the whole thing, properly formatted, over at http://bearzusmash.wordpress.com/thorn/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorn, A Sylvari's Tale - Chapter 2

**THORN, A SYLVARI’S TALE – Chapter 2**

**S.E. OFSTEIN**

 

Mozu’s leg throbbed terribly by the time she reached the bottom of the hill where the huge black lion waited, watching her. He stood as she approached and fell in beside her as she limped painfully along. Noticing the wound along his flank, she remarked without humor, “We’re a matching pair, aren’t we?” The lion snuffed loudly, but otherwise padded along in silence. She wanted to reach out and run a hand through that thick, black mane, but she stopped herself.

Pausing at the gate set in the low mud-brick wall, she cast her gaze back towards the looming, ancient forest above. Tall grasses swayed in the wind and hid the carnage that littered the hillside, although crows already wheeled in the sky above, anticipating the feast at hand.

The village was a bustle of activity—the wounded were being attended to in one of the larger houses, and from it, a steady stream of farmers came and went carrying water and what she assumed was material for bandages. Bandit corpses were being unceremoniously stacked upon the bed of a wagon, and a pile of stripped armor and weapons stood nearby.

The giant huntsman, stripped to the waist, sat with his back against a hitching post, his own weapons strewn about carelessly. He smiled and waved her over.

 _He might as well be a bear,_ she thought.

With a grunt and a groan, the huntsman stood and placed a tiny mug aside. Mozu said nothing, but simply held the quiver out to him, along with the bow. The norn laughed as he wiped foam from his moustache, and clapped her on the shoulder. She stumbled and nearly fell, but he caught her.

““Great work, lass. That fuckin’ archer were a pain in them farmer’s collective arse, an’ that feller with the axe—well, that were just a pain good shot.” He laughed again and looked her over, “I see ya took a hit o’ yer own. Go git patched up an’ we’ll talk.”

He gave her a gentle shove as he moved to check on the wounded lion. “C’mere, boy, lemme have a look at that . . .”

The humanfolk gazed on Mozu in mute wonder as she approached the makeshift hospital, until they noticed the spear, and her wound. Men and women alike rushed forward to offer her tentative thanks and a shoulder to lean upon as they guided her inside.

At the center of the large common room, a tanned, muscular woman directed the efforts of the the townspeople as they tended to those injured in the bandit’s assault. From behind the woman’s skirts, a small child peeked at Mozu with huge, bright eyes.

Those eyes ran from the sylvari’s face down to the weapon in her hands to the wound on her thigh, and followed the spatters of bright, golden blood she left in her wake back toward the door. The little girl bolted and fled from the room as her mother scowled after her. Mozu’s heart sank, and a wave of nausea struck her as she, too, noticed the trail of blood.

The woman smiled at her. “Over here, miss. Let’s have a look at you.” She pointed to an empty cot.

Mozu nodded dumbly as the room began to spin, thankful for the strong arms now holding her upright, “I don’t . . . I don’t feel so . . .” She heard that strange buzzing in her ears again, and then the room went dark.

When she awoke, the sun hung low in the sky and bathed the room a deep orange. After a few moments, a hand appeared in front of her face, holding a glass of water. Her head swam for a moment and she took the offered water as the brawny woman from earlier helped Mozu to sit upright. She noticed the sleeping, gently snoring form of the lion at the side of her bed.

The woman chuckled, “Your norn friend brought him in here to work on him. We about died from the shock. Never seen anyone stitch up a big cat like that before. Never actually _seen_ a big cat like that before, period. Surprised me, but that cat didn’t fuss at all—just looked ’round the room like we were the ones who should be in a zoo.”

Mozu furrowed her brow at the tiny bubbles below the surface of the hand-blown glass as she sipped at the cool water. “Hmm? Oh, he’s not my friend. We met on the hill right before the bandits attacked.”

“Oh. Well . . . either way, he seemed pretty concerned about you, and the cat‘s been there all afternoon,” the woman pointed with her chin as she checked Mozu’s bandage.

“We’ve never had a sylvari come to town, much less had to stitch one up. I, ah, hope we did the right thing . . .” she trailed off.

Mozu’s head came around unsteadily. “You’ve all been very kind. I’m sorry I . . . we . . .” she weakly cast a hand around the room at the other wounded.

The woman cocked her head to one side and slid the bandana from her hair. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Mozu.”

“Well, Mozu, I’m Cassidy Ferguson, and this is my daughter, Anna.”

Mozu suddenly noticed the child, hiding again behind her kneeling mother. “If you and your . . . if you and the norn and his cat hadn’t come along, we’d all be dead by now,” Cassidy’s eyes flicked to her daughter for a brief second, “or worse. Now, how’s that leg feeling?”

“Stiff,” Mozu replied. “Sore. I think I’ll live, though.” She tried to force a smile, and whispered to the child, “Hello, little one.”

Cassidy glanced back at her daughter again, “Go on, Anna. She’s very nice, see?”

Murmuring quietly to her mother, the furiously blushing little girl held something out to Mozu. A small bouquet of cornflowers tied together with a bit of yellow yarn. Mozu felt a strange lump in her throat and found it suddenly very difficult to speak.

“She—I hope this doesn’t offend you—she said that you reminded her of cornflowers,” Cassidy explained. “She picked this bunch while you slept, and stayed nearby while we tended to the wounded, waiting for you to wake up.”

Mozu smiled, genuinely this time, “Who could be offended, being compared to the beauty of nature? I’m afraid that I have nothing to give you in return.” She picked at the dirty and torn clothing piled on the floor next to her. “This is all I own.”

The little girl shook her head, and her mother nodded in agreement.

“Miss, you have protected our lives, our homes, and our livelihood. There is no greater gift.” She squeezed Mozu’s upper arm for a brief moment, then, with a nod and smile, moved on to tend to the other patients.

“Thank you for this treasure, Anna,” Mozu called softly after the child, while Anna buried her face in her mother’s skirts.

Mozu lay back again, holding the bouquet to her breast. She stared up at the soot-stained ceiling as the room grew dark and quiet. Turning her face toward the sleeping lion, she gave in to her earlier desire and stretched out an arm. The massive feline murmured in his sleep and flexed one great paw as she ran her hand through that glossy, soft, warm fur.

She smiled again, satisfied, and closed her eyes.

 

A cool, sweet breeze blew across the plains and though the open windows of the cottage the next morning. Sunlight filled the room with subdued cheer as the injured ate a hearty breakfast. While Mozu slept, someone had placed the cornflower bouquet in a small vase on the sill above.

Slowly ambling about the village, Mozu tested her leg, and curiously inspected the human dwellings, the farm implements, and even the dolyaks who chewed lazily in their pen. They lowed at her approach.

She leaned against the fence, admiring their idleness and trying to ignore the deep ache that wracked her whole body, when a heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder. She spun on her good leg and craned her neck upward.

“’Mornin’, lass. I see yer none too worse fer wear.” The lion at the giant’s side peered at Mozu suspiciously.

“Good morning,” she nodded. “I . . . suppose I’m . . . not?”

The norn grinned widely, and Mozu couldn’t help but stare at a single straw of hay that stuck out from his messy hair.

“Good, good. Glad ta see ya up an’ about. I’ll say one thing about these goodfolk, they sure know how ta feed a feller,” he patted his stomach. “D’ja’eetyet?”

“Sorry?”

“Breakfast.”

“Oh, yes. Eggs and sausage and fresh milk. I’ve never had anything . . . so delicious . . .” she trailed off, still staring at the straw waving boldly in the breeze. She pursed her lips, trying desperately to stifle a giggle.

The norn looked around, confused, then slowly raised a hand to his head. He regarded the lone straw indifferently, and let the wind take it without a word. The lion seemed to be looking anywhere but at his master.

Stroking his braided beard, the norn cleared his throat loudly, then abruptly held out a tanned, calloused hand. “Linebaugh, lass. Interductions seem a bit odd after yesterday an’ whatnot, but . . . there ya go. Atcher service,” he rumbled.

It took her a moment to understand, but she placed her tiny hand in his. “Mozu. Thank you for what you did for these humans yesterday.”

Linebaugh shook her hand gently and grinned again, “Ach, huntin’ bandits—that’s ol’ hat fer these two ol’ timers. Lookit yerself, though.”

His eyes roamed over the fields beyond the village.

“I was wonderin’ if we could talk elsewhere. I know yer not up fer walkin’, an’ was wonderin’ if ye’d be offended if I offered ta carry ya. Not far, mind ya, just away from these goodfolk a bit.”

Blushing a deep indigo, Mozu nodded, and the norn scooped her up as easily as if she were Anna. The lion followed at his heels, and as they turned the far corner of the barn, Mozu pointed. “What’s his name?”

“Who? Him?” Linebaugh jerked his head toward the huge cat. “Dunno, he’s just a big honkin’ kitty. I call ‘im _Boy_. He dun seem none too offended.”

Mozu looked Linebaugh in the eye, her face set. “That seems unfair. Names have power, you know.”

“Oh, do they now, lass?” Linebaugh raised an eyebrow. She nodded, very seriously.

“Well, yer welcome to call ‘im whatever ya like, ‘long as it ain’t _Fluffy_ or somethin’,” he laughed.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Oh, come now, lass, would ol’ Linebaugh do that?”

Squinting, she regarded his countenance and crossed her arms petulantly. “Yes. Yes, I think you would.”

“Aye, ya might be right about that.”

Mozu gave him a sound whack, which only set him to laughing again. Behind the barn, he pushed an empty barrel over with his foot and nudged it up against the wall. Mozu limped over to it and sat as he set her back upon the earth. Boy took up a position far enough away to be out of the shadow of the barn and flopped over in the grass.

She looked over at Linebaugh hesitantly, “So . . . what was it you wanted that the townsfolk weren’t supposed to hear?”

“Oh,” he shook his shaggy head, “it weren’t nothin’ like that. I just had some questions fer ya, an’ figgered . . . well, anyway.”

“Ask away.”

His voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper as he lowered himself to the ground next to her perch. “I asked ya this before but we didn’t have time fer proper conversation, so, lemme ask again— _what in tha fuck_ were ya doin’ out in tha middle o’ them godsdamned woods with no food, no clothes . . . no nothin’?”

Mozu watched Boy roll around in the field as a dozen answers all flitted through her head. “I left home,” she said with a shrug.

Linebaugh rolled his eyes and ran a hand slowly down his face. “Aye, no shit. I figgered that, seein’ as I ain’t standin’ next ta some some big fuckin’ tree—no offense.”

“None taken,” she answered coolly as she tried to ignore Linebaugh’s intense gaze. Moments of silence passed, and she finally gave up.

“I had a calling, and I didn’t think that anyone would be very happy about it, and no one tried to stop my leaving, so . . . here I am.”

He looked quite confused.

“Er, this callin’,” he gestured vaguely, “it weren’t nothin’ weird, were it?”

“Weird?”

Linebaugh just shrugged and look at her expectantly.

“I guess. Maybe,” she mumbled.

“Er, kin ya tell me what it was?”

Mortified and turning purple, Mozu turned away to hide her face.

“I wanted to be a hero,” she confessed, her own voice barely a whisper.

“Come again?” Linebaugh barked a short laugh, and she rounded on him with venom in her eyes even as tears welled up.

He patted her good leg, “Hey now, lass! I dun think there’s a child alive that hasn’t dreamed o’ bein’ some kinda great hero or warrior or wizard or what have ya! Ain’t nothin’ ta be ashamed of!”

Linebaugh turned serious and stroked his beard again, “. . . ’course, most of ‘em bring a pair o’ pants with ‘em when they run away from home.”

Mozu whacked him on the shoulder again. “You don’t understand, Linebaugh. My people live by a very strict code.”

He nodded, “But ya didn’t want ta.”

“I couldn’t! You saw . . . you saw those men and know what they were going to do to these kind people and—wait a minute. You asked me yesterday if I’d killed two of them. How did you know that?”

Linebaugh’s eyes darted around for a moment, “Would you believe that we just picked up tha trail an’ saw tha cairns them fellers built for tha dead an’ put two an’ two tagether?”

Mozu shot to her feet, eyes aflame, and Linebaugh shrunk back from her.

“You followed me. You watched me. I SAW HIS FUCKING FOOTPRINTS!” she shrieked, pointing at Boy, who froze. “I HUNTED THEM AND MURDERED THEM WITH _NO FOOD, NO CLOTHING, NO NOTHIN’_ AND YOU DID NOTHING BUT WATCH.”

He nodded and stood slowly to tower above the furious sylvari girl, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Aye,” he said quietly, “We followed ya fer days. Watched ya steal their supplies, tame their dolyaks, find yerself shelter, clothe yerself, arm yerself, “ he grabbed one of her hands and turned it over, placing his other hand on top of it, “an’ when ya figgered out what them fellers was about, we watched ya take tha hardest step any sane bein’ kin take.”

“Stop it,” Mozu moved to yank her hand away, but his grip was vicelike.

“We watched ya sneak in and drive that knife inta that feller’s brain, an’ we watched ya hack that shittin’ fella ta death. I figger if ya had proper—well, anythin’, really—you’d’a killed a few more afore ya were through with ‘em.”

She slapped and punched and pushed, but still he would not let her go.

“We could’a taken them fellers at any time—they’d’a had no idea what the fuck were hittin’ ‘em. Ya had no idea we was there, an’ yer a hell of a lot more savvy than them scumbags were—even if ya did just fall off’a tha tree, so to speak.”

Mozu gawked at him and shrieked again, “SO WHY DIDN’T YOU?”

He smiled at her with sad eyes, and she stopped struggling in his grasp.

“Lass, I got no excuse for ya, ‘cept I was curious—tryin’ ta figure out what . . . mmm . . . what ya was all about. Seein’ if ye’d show yer mettle, so to speak.

“Look,” he sighed heavily, “I ain’t the best with words—most’a tha time I got no one to talk to ‘cept Boy an’ Bear .

“I gotta tell ya, lass,” he knelt, holding her hand gently now, and their heads were nearly level, “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. If you’d’a stuck me out in them woods with a bunch’a fuckin’ bandits an’ no supplies when I was a boy—hell, I’d’a been dead in days.”

Linebaugh released her hand, and she snatched it away. He scratched at the back of his head, and his eyes suddenly snapped up to meet hers.

“That reminds me, lass—didja see anyone else out there? I mean aside from them bandits.”

“I saw your pet’s tracks near my shelter one night, but otherwise, no. Why?”

“Hmm,” he scratched at his head again, “no reason, no reason. But, lissen, I know some about yer people, an’ I know how hard it would’a been fer anyone ta do what ya did out there, much less one’a y—ah, shit, that came out wrong.”

Mozu gingerly lowered herself onto barrel again and stared at the patch ground between her feet. She swallowed hard, “So?”

“So?”

_“So?”_

Linebaugh sighed, “So, I guess my point is, I dun think yer callin’ was weird. If ya felt strong enough ta go against yer people’s teachin’ or beliefs or whatever an’ strike out on yer own, then good on ya. World needs more people like that, ‘specially these days.”

“And?” she asked in a flat tone.

“. . .  and what’ll ya do now?”

There was silence for a moment, and Mozu’s face crumbled as she buried her head in her hands. “I don’t know,” she wept.

“Ah, lass, I’m sorry.” He squeezed her knee gently, but she just shook her head.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing since I left the Grove. Every day I ask myself the same thing,” she sobbed. “Those men—I see their faces every time I try and sleep. They were so scared and I killed them.”

Linebaugh was silent as Mozu wept, and Boy watched them both curiously.

He cleared his throat again. “I said before ya did the hardest thing anyone in ther right mind kin do—ta take another’s life. I know yer sick to yer stomach, and mebbe ya think yer a horrible person fer what ya did, an’ that’s . . . that’s a good thing, Mozu.

“Ya did what needed ta be done, an’ now ya have ta live with it. Ya should be glad fer how ya feel about it, though it shouldn’t stay yer hand in tha future should ya need to do it again . . .”

He trailed off with a scowl and was silent again for a moment, staring at that same spot between Mozu’s feet.

“ . . . it’s only when ya stop feelin’ that way that ya should start worryin’ about yerself. ‘S what I think, anyway.”

He looked about uncomfortably and rose to his feet, “Well, lemme let ya alone a bit, we’ll talk s’more la—“

Mozu’s hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve, “Stay. Please.”

“I’ll be back in just a ‘sec,” he nodded, patting her shoulder.

She wiped her face on her own grimy shirt and gathered her thoughts. Boy suddenly padded over, closer than she was comfortable with, and his emerald eyes bored into her own. The sound of footsteps approaching reached her, and Boy turned away to settle down in the shade nearby. Linebaugh returned bearing a mug of dark, malty beer for her, and a bucketful for himself.

Mozu took a pull from the nutty, slightly bitter drink and rested her weary head against the back wall of the barn. They sat in silence, watching the shadows slowly retreat toward them.

“Well? You seem to be a man of opinions—what do _you_ think I should do next?”

Linebaugh’s eyes slid from her face to the lion near her feet and back again. He drained the remainder of the beer from the bucket. Setting it aside, he linked his fingers and rested his elbows upon his knees.

“Tell me, Mozu, d’ya like animals?”

 

They left Harriston two days later, feasting on their last night there in what seemed to Mozu a kingly manner. She’d eaten more than her fill and had been working her way through a fourth mug of ale when someone, she couldn’t remember who exactly, had carried her off to her cot in Cassidy’s house, all the while ignoring her drunken protests.

She looked sadly at the wilted cornflowers, and as a strong breeze came up, she raised her open hand above her head and watched them drift away.

“Ugh. I’m not sure what feels worse—my head or my leg.”

“At least ya weren’t dancin’ on tha tables or anythin’. Little hair o’ tha dog?” Linebaugh held out a small metal flask to her.

Mozu eyed it suspiciously, “Is that more alcohol?”

“Just a bit o’ whiskey.”

“No. No, thank you.”

“Suit yerself,” he grumbled, squinting in the bright morning sunlight and tucking the flask away again.

They bumped along in silence while the wagon creaked and groaned. Mozu glanced over her shoulder from time to time. A few yards from the edge of the road, Haitei bounded through the grass and wildflowers, occasionally crouching low only to pounce at an unwary butterfly or grasshopper.

“So, why exactly are we riding in a cart full of corpses?” Mozu rasped, rubbing at her aching temples.

“Wagon,” he corrected, “a cart’s only got two wheels. Well, with yer bum leg, walkin’ were outta tha question fer now, so tha nice folk o’ Harriston gave us this lovely conveyance ta dump these bodies somewhere far from town. We’ll pay some feller ta take it on back to ‘em at the next town with coin’ they gave us.”

“It’s quite the smell.”

“Aye. Can’t say I ain’t overly familiar with it, though. Guess ya sorta git used to it.” Linebaugh wrinkled his nose and mumbled, “Sorta.”

She watched his profile for a time, puzzling something out in her head.

He shot her a sideways glance, “Can’t git enough o’ this handsome mug, eh?”

“Sorry! I was just thinking.” Her face flushed, and she stared the road ahead. Not a word passed between them for another ten minutes or so, until Linebaugh reached for the waterskin beneath his seat and gulped noisily.

“What’s on yer mind, lass?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

Her eyes remained fixed on the dusty path, and she took a deep breath. “You’re not just some simple woodsman,” she stated plainly.

“Oh?”

“You fight like a beast, you travel with a . . .  with a pet that can tear a man’s arm from its socket and who obeys your every command, y—“

“A _beast_ , eh? Yer not tha first woman ta call ol’ Linebaugh that,” he grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. “Nor tha last, I suspect.”

She frowned at him, “I’m serious.”

“Aye, me too!”

The two dolyak pulling the wagon plodded along, and Haitei had disappeared up the slope and back into the forest, presumably looking for breakfast. Mozu sighed heavily.

“Fine, then,” he said in a sober tone. “What d’ya think I am, then, if not _some simple woodsman_.”

She kicked off her new boots and pulled her feet up onto the bench seat. “A warrior? A sneak? A scoundrel? You play the laughing fool, but you’re a deeper thinker than I am.”

The corners of Linebaugh’s mouth turned down almost imperceptibly.

“There’s a good heart in there,” she pointed at his keglike chest. “Otherwise, why would you put yourself in danger for one sylvari girl and some humans that you don’t even know at no gain for yourself. You’ve even invited me to share your home and offered to train me.” Mozu rested her chin upon her knees.

“You killed half a dozen dangerous men or more by yourself—well, you and Boy, anyway—like it was nothing, and yet there’s a gentle side to you as well.”

She shrugged, “I don’t really know _what_ to make of you.”

The reins hung in his massive hands as Linebaugh turned to stare at her blankly after a few moments, “Honestly, lass, that makes two’a us.” He gazed back at the road and was quiet again.

 

River drakes thrashed and rolled in the shallows as they ripped the corpses apart, turning the riverbed into a churning froth of mud, murky water, and gore.

Linebaugh took a hasty step back as he stripped off his heavy leather gloves and untied the cloth across his nose and mouth. “Well, that’s the last o’ ‘em. Rot in hell, ya bastards,” he spat into the fray. Mozu grimaced and turned away.

“Can we go?”

“Aye, just gotta git some water from upstream a bit and slop out the back o’ this thing.”

“Lovely.”

“Dirty work’s a part o’ this life. Dun tell me ya suddenly got too delicate ta git yer hands dirty again,” he snapped at her. “Ye’ve seen an’ done worse already. A little more blood an’ shit won’t kill ya.”

Mozu recoiled at his harsh words. Linebaugh’s face softened for a moment as he opened his mouth as if to say something, and shut it again with a click. He avoided her eyes as he retrieved a pair of buckets from the filth-crusted bed of the cart and stalked off, seeking cleaner water. When he returned, he plunked both sloshing buckets before her and dropped a stiff brush into one, along with a bar of strong soap.

“Enjoy.”

They rode in tense silence until they reached the next hamlet, where arrangements for the cart’s return to Harriston were made. Mozu cornered Linebaugh in the stableyard of the village’s only inn as the cart driver walked away. She limped up to him, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“What the . . . what the _fuck_ was all that about?”

A look of shock passed across his face and was gone again an instant later. The hard look in his eyes returned.

“Tha fuck was what about?”

She thrust an arm out, gesturing at the wagon angrily. He looked it over lazily and shrugged, “Needed cleanin’.”

Mozu gaped at him as he turned and walked away. She reached into the bed of the cart, and hurled the brush at his retreating back with all of her might. Linebaugh stopped dead in his tracks as it hit him and fell to the dirt with a soft thud.

Before she could even blink, she was pinned painfully against a wagon wheel by a hand that could have snapped her in half like a dried twig. Linebaugh’s furious face pressed close to hers. His nostrils flared.

“Ya wanna be a fuckin’ hero, girl?” he hissed at her. “This weren’t nothin’. What we done today? What we done a couple’a days ago? What you done out there alone in them woods? Fuckin’ nothin’. Not even a godsdamned drop in one’a them buckets.

“This ain’t a fuckin’ kids game. I ain’t out there pretendin’ ta be some fuckin’ Seraph an’ usin’ sticks fer swords—people’s lives’re at stake. People die.” His voice dropped so low that she had to strain to hear him, “You ain’t even thought about what it is yer getting’ yerself inta—pretty blue head full’a whatever tha fuck ya think yer gonna do out there.” He swept his free arm in an angry arc.

“If ya come with me, you’ll see shit an’ do shit that’ll turn them fuckin’ leaves on yer head greyer’n my fuckin’ hair. Shit that’ll make ya wish every day that ya could just go back in time an’ avoid altagether. Shit ya can never unsee, an’ll follow ya tha rest o’ yer days. Ya can’t even imagine the shit I been through; the shit that ye’ll go through . . .”

He took a deep, ragged breath.

“I like ya, lass. I really do—an’ that’s why I want ya to turn back. Head on home ta yer Grove an’ let yer firstborn school ya an’ go be somethin’ ya kin be proud’a. This ain’t the way.” His eyes blazed on the edge of madness. The shock and outrage that Mozu had felt at first turned to deep sadness as she looked upon another broken man with haunted eyes, and she raised her arms.

_He’s like Ronan—but he’s no coward._

“Tha only thing what lies this way is . . .“ Linebaugh froze, and his eyes went wide as Mozu placed a gentle hand on either side of his face.

She looked at him very seriously. “Linebaugh, I can no more turn from my path than you can will your heart not to beat. I don’t know what it is you’ve been through, that’s true enough. I do know, however, that the Dream has shown me terrible things—things that could have been prevented by the right people with the right mindset.

“I’ve killed four times now, and I’ll kill again, because it needs to be done. You offered to train me, and I accepted without hesitation. Did you stop to wonder why?”

He released her and staggered backward, and Mozu thought that he suddenly seemed very small in the deepening shadows of the stableyard.

“You’re strong,” she leaned back against the side of the wagon and rubbed her shoulder. “Very, very strong. If you can lend me even a part of that strength, then I know that I can make my own way in the world and do that dirty work you spoke of so that someone else doesn’t have to. Why should you do it alone? Your shoulders may be big, but not big enough to bear that burden by yourself.”

He stared blankly at his hands, opening and closing as if by their own will.

“At least I know what you are now,” she said flatly as their eyes met.

“An’ what would that be?”

“An idiot, just like me,” Mozu smirked.

The familiar grin returned slowly, and he looked at his hands again. “Aye. Aye, that we are.” He rubbed the back of his head, “A couple’a fuckin’ idjits.

“But we ain’t tha only ones. Lotsa folks in this world tryin’ ta make a diff’rence in ther own way fer ther own reasons . . .“ His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat once again.

“Look, Mozu, if yer serious—I mean really thought it through—then ev’ry bit o’ almost fifty years o’ knowledge is yers fer tha takin’ . . . an maybe I’ll interduce ya ta some’a them folks.”

“I was born, quite literally, ready.”

 _Although totally ignorant, and completely unprepared,_ she cursed herself.

Linebaugh looked her up and down slowly, just as he had when they’d first met. “Aye, I s’pose ya were at that. I reckon I can’t talk ya outta this.”

“You could try, and I could pick up my things and my spear and head down the road alone and learn as I go.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her, and his lips were moving ever so slightly. She remained silent as he wrestled with some inner turmoil. Finally, he straightened up to his full height again, his face set.

“Mozu, I’m sorry fer, well, what happened there. I, ah . . .”

“Come on. I’m hungry, and it’s been a long, filthy day,” she patted one huge forearm as she headed for the side door of the taproom.

He stood in the gloaming as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and listened to the raucous voices and clatter of dinnerware coming from the inn. Boy reappeared out of the descending darkness suddenly, nonchalantly padding his way into the stableyard to sit on his haunches before Linebaugh. His eyes flashed in the reflected orange light of the windows as he stared at his master expectantly.

Linebaugh laid one huge hand across the cat’s head and scratched. Those eyes squeezed shut in contentment, and Linebaugh chuckled.

“That girl’s gonna be a pain in my arse, Boy. Mark my words.”

He blinked and shaded his eyes as the stableyard flooded with light. Mozu stood silhouetted in the glowing doorway.

“Come on, _old timer_ ,” Mozu called to him. “You have all of the coin, and I could use some of your dog hair about now. Oh, hello, Boy. Welcome back.”

He chuckled again, and whispered, “Y’see?”

Boy merely grinned the way only a happy cat can grin—even one that weighed more than a quarter of a ton—and rumbled deep in his chest as Linebaugh worked that spot between his ears just right.

 


End file.
